I wasn't really looking forward to Saturday night. I try and have as little to do with the other mothers at my kid's school as I can, but the idea of an end of semester (term) night out got floated and I kind of felt like I couldn't refuse.
We started with a Chinese buffet at an all-you-can eat kind of place and then moved on to a comedy club. Conversation mainly revolved around how much better each woman's child was than anybody else's, how husband's are clueless, how sometimes it's like having TWO kids (or three, or five or eight. I mean, hello? Contraception?) and how can little people make so much mess. With twenty of us there, maybe 19 of these conversations were going on at once and we drew a lot of attention from the people around us, good and bad. As the token American I got asked about Trump a lot and had to listen to uninformed bias about my country as a whole because, you know, a president represents an entire nation. Shall I ask who's rooting for Jeremy against Boris? (I didn't
)
You know that stereotype about the British being polite? That doesn't seem to apply to where I am
Another highlight was the argument over red wine, white wine or beer. And who was paying for my Disaronno (I was, I got it at the bar and paid cash) or how they were then going to split the bill if "people" were buying "their own" drinks... No, once I assured them I was fine with divvying it up into equal shares, then it was okay. Meal done, that was it, right?
Nope. We're going "out" which means visiting a number of pubs ranging from old men's, sticky, generic and upmarket with locally brewed IPA beers so you have no idea what you're ordering.
After losing count, and track of where we'd been, and with half our number having either been left behind or going home without letting me know so I could get away, some of the women left realized that at some point they'd had their hands stamped with free admission to a nearby "gentlemen's club."
I tried not to let the panic show. These women thought it would somehow be "a laugh". I'm not sure what's so funny, though: half of me is terrified of these places, for fear that the women are being exploited or that it's a front company of something even more sinister. Maybe I'm a little jealous in case my husband should enjoy such an establishment
But then, kind of, I've always fantasized about either having a dance or being a dancer in there too but never quite had the nerve to check it out. So with every instinct I have screaming at me to run away, I agree that yes, it should be fun.
Immediately when we get in, it transpires that out of all 8 of us now left, I'm the only one without a stamp. That causes me a few minutes delay getting in before the woman on the desk and the bouncer on the door agree that actually they can just let me in with the rest of my group, but I get a stern warning about not touching the dancers. Well, surely everyone knows that?
By the time I'm in, the argument over wine seems to have been solved again and the others are heading past one of the dance poles to a round booth at the back of the club. I'm ordering another Disaronno when I'm approached by a beautiful young brunette looking way more girl next door than the cosmetically enhanced E! news story I'd been expecting in a psychedelic patterned tie up bikini and black tie-up stilletos laced around her ankles asks me if she can chat. Her name is Danielle and she tells me that I can have a private dance for £20 or a champagne private party "from £120". I ask her if it's weird having women in here and she says it's getting quite common. After paying £8 for a tiny sliver of amaretto, I can still just about afford a dance, but I've not built up the courage yet so I tell her I'm going to go and join the others and she says she'll come with me. A few other girls, again all normal looking, wearing a variety of lingerie and sexy costumes, have joined my group. It's not long before two of the women go off for dances, and after watching a couple of dancers on the pole, I'm ready to admit I want a dance with Danielle.
She takes me to a curtained-off booth right at the back of the club where I sit on a plush purple chair and she begins to dance for me. "You seem nervous," she quickly notices. I apologize and she laughs. "Had a fantasy for a while," she asks me and I admit that she's right. So she invites me to relax and enjoy.
For the next five minutes, she slowly gyrates and writhes herself over me, rubbing her crotch over my knee the way I grind my own over my husband's. The way she unties and gradually removes the bikini top is an art form. She's maybe a UK size 10, 12 at most, with natural I guess C-cup breasts and she takes hold of my hands and squeezes them to her before putting them back to my sides and rubbing them against my face.
The way she can move her top one way and her hips a different way is hypnotic. She asks me if I'm enjoying it and of course I tell her I am. She smiles, almost knowingly, holding my gaze as she unties the strings one side of her bikini bottoms, and then the other. Well, I know she's trying to hold my gaze but I can't help but watch her body
She's waxed completely smooth when she exposes herself fully to me and then as she once more straddles my lap to grind herself against me, she lays the panties over my shoulder. At this stage, the dance ends soon afterwards. In all, it lasted around five minutes but in some ways it seemed to go on much longer. She would only have spent the last minute or so completely naked but that minute was intense.
"Thank you," I breathe, shaking, struggling to find my voice, still ogling her as she gets herself dressed. She gives me a demure laugh and tells me I'm welcome and when she's dressed gives me her hand to help me stand.
I'm warm, I can feel my face is flushed and I'm DEFINITELY wet as Danielle guides me back out to the club. But the table where we'd been sat is empty.
A second or so later someone screeches "where have you been," and I'm dragged out by one of the mother's, flanked by a bouncer.
It turns out one of the women got touchy feely with the dancer, and another decided to have a go pole dancing, getting the full group thrown out. Both of them complain all the way to the taxi rank about how unfair it is. One is whining that "we're all just girls," while the other one is bragging about how lucky her partner is.
Fantasy fulfilled and then immediately ruined.
So, definitely DO NOT, EVER go to a strip club with the other mothers from your child's class.
We started with a Chinese buffet at an all-you-can eat kind of place and then moved on to a comedy club. Conversation mainly revolved around how much better each woman's child was than anybody else's, how husband's are clueless, how sometimes it's like having TWO kids (or three, or five or eight. I mean, hello? Contraception?) and how can little people make so much mess. With twenty of us there, maybe 19 of these conversations were going on at once and we drew a lot of attention from the people around us, good and bad. As the token American I got asked about Trump a lot and had to listen to uninformed bias about my country as a whole because, you know, a president represents an entire nation. Shall I ask who's rooting for Jeremy against Boris? (I didn't
)You know that stereotype about the British being polite? That doesn't seem to apply to where I am
Another highlight was the argument over red wine, white wine or beer. And who was paying for my Disaronno (I was, I got it at the bar and paid cash) or how they were then going to split the bill if "people" were buying "their own" drinks... No, once I assured them I was fine with divvying it up into equal shares, then it was okay. Meal done, that was it, right?
Nope. We're going "out" which means visiting a number of pubs ranging from old men's, sticky, generic and upmarket with locally brewed IPA beers so you have no idea what you're ordering.
After losing count, and track of where we'd been, and with half our number having either been left behind or going home without letting me know so I could get away, some of the women left realized that at some point they'd had their hands stamped with free admission to a nearby "gentlemen's club."
I tried not to let the panic show. These women thought it would somehow be "a laugh". I'm not sure what's so funny, though: half of me is terrified of these places, for fear that the women are being exploited or that it's a front company of something even more sinister. Maybe I'm a little jealous in case my husband should enjoy such an establishment
But then, kind of, I've always fantasized about either having a dance or being a dancer in there too but never quite had the nerve to check it out. So with every instinct I have screaming at me to run away, I agree that yes, it should be fun.
Immediately when we get in, it transpires that out of all 8 of us now left, I'm the only one without a stamp. That causes me a few minutes delay getting in before the woman on the desk and the bouncer on the door agree that actually they can just let me in with the rest of my group, but I get a stern warning about not touching the dancers. Well, surely everyone knows that?
By the time I'm in, the argument over wine seems to have been solved again and the others are heading past one of the dance poles to a round booth at the back of the club. I'm ordering another Disaronno when I'm approached by a beautiful young brunette looking way more girl next door than the cosmetically enhanced E! news story I'd been expecting in a psychedelic patterned tie up bikini and black tie-up stilletos laced around her ankles asks me if she can chat. Her name is Danielle and she tells me that I can have a private dance for £20 or a champagne private party "from £120". I ask her if it's weird having women in here and she says it's getting quite common. After paying £8 for a tiny sliver of amaretto, I can still just about afford a dance, but I've not built up the courage yet so I tell her I'm going to go and join the others and she says she'll come with me. A few other girls, again all normal looking, wearing a variety of lingerie and sexy costumes, have joined my group. It's not long before two of the women go off for dances, and after watching a couple of dancers on the pole, I'm ready to admit I want a dance with Danielle.
She takes me to a curtained-off booth right at the back of the club where I sit on a plush purple chair and she begins to dance for me. "You seem nervous," she quickly notices. I apologize and she laughs. "Had a fantasy for a while," she asks me and I admit that she's right. So she invites me to relax and enjoy.
For the next five minutes, she slowly gyrates and writhes herself over me, rubbing her crotch over my knee the way I grind my own over my husband's. The way she unties and gradually removes the bikini top is an art form. She's maybe a UK size 10, 12 at most, with natural I guess C-cup breasts and she takes hold of my hands and squeezes them to her before putting them back to my sides and rubbing them against my face.
The way she can move her top one way and her hips a different way is hypnotic. She asks me if I'm enjoying it and of course I tell her I am. She smiles, almost knowingly, holding my gaze as she unties the strings one side of her bikini bottoms, and then the other. Well, I know she's trying to hold my gaze but I can't help but watch her body
She's waxed completely smooth when she exposes herself fully to me and then as she once more straddles my lap to grind herself against me, she lays the panties over my shoulder. At this stage, the dance ends soon afterwards. In all, it lasted around five minutes but in some ways it seemed to go on much longer. She would only have spent the last minute or so completely naked but that minute was intense.
"Thank you," I breathe, shaking, struggling to find my voice, still ogling her as she gets herself dressed. She gives me a demure laugh and tells me I'm welcome and when she's dressed gives me her hand to help me stand.
I'm warm, I can feel my face is flushed and I'm DEFINITELY wet as Danielle guides me back out to the club. But the table where we'd been sat is empty.
A second or so later someone screeches "where have you been," and I'm dragged out by one of the mother's, flanked by a bouncer.
It turns out one of the women got touchy feely with the dancer, and another decided to have a go pole dancing, getting the full group thrown out. Both of them complain all the way to the taxi rank about how unfair it is. One is whining that "we're all just girls," while the other one is bragging about how lucky her partner is.
Fantasy fulfilled and then immediately ruined.
So, definitely DO NOT, EVER go to a strip club with the other mothers from your child's class.
